


bitterroot ghost //

by steponmeasra



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:46:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29252436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steponmeasra/pseuds/steponmeasra
Summary: Asra and the Apprentice are both in love, but neither can bear to tell the other. For fear of rejection, for fear of damage. Neither feels able to withstand the weight of their love alone. A fateful conversation between the two leaves both more lost than if they’d never said anything at all.
Relationships: Apprentice/Asra (The Arcana)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 26





	1. bitterroot ghost //

_let me love you like a woman // let me hold you like a baby // talk to me in songs and poems // don’t make me be bittersweet…_

It’s autumn again. 

Again, the leaves are changing slowly and then all at once. The sun shifts from the warm gold of summer slowly into the sepia of autumn as the nights grow longer. Again, the square outside the shop clatters with the skittering of fallen leaves and the creaking cart wheels of the squash vendor returning home from the market.

The apprentice sighs and looks out the open window, the mug of tea in their hand growing colder as the evening air settles into a chill.

The sun is setting. Asra is leaving again.

They know he needs to roam. If for nothing else, to find wares for their tiny shared magic shop, and to sate his wild curiosity for the world. He hungers for places the apprentice has never seen, nor imagined.

“It’s different when you’re not here,” they sigh quietly, seemingly to no one in particular. Asra pauses meticulously packing his old leather pack and bites his lip. He hates to leave them, but they’re so full of light, they’re close enough to touch…

And his hands will burn them.

“It’s lonely. It gets so quiet at night, it’s like I’m the only one in the world.”

Asra steps forward to press a kiss against their forehead. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

They stare down into their mug, heart pulled in every different direction. He’s all they know, but they hardly know him at all.

No idea what he wants, where he goes, what he dreams of. His hands are soft and his eyes are warm, but he holds them a world away.

It’s silly to think of him so constantly. To dream of him and miss the way he feels sleeping soundly next to them in the ocean of their bed, to want to know him and feel him.

_Every time he leaves, it’s like he was never here at all…_

Asra’s kiss on their forehead leaves a pricking chill behind, and their throat bobs.

“Asra, have you ever been in love?”

It’s hard not to resent him.

Has his belly ever lurched like theirs does when he’s near? Has he ever been so hopeless, and so full of heartbreak and longing in equal measure?

He trips over his own boot, and rakes a hand through his downy white curls. “Once,” he says cryptically.

Doesn’t he want them to know him at all?

_It’s like he’s not even here._

“Who were they? Did they love you back?” the apprentice presses, tracing the worn wooden windowsill. The scent of dying leaves creeps in through the frame and rustles the collar of their shirt.

_How do I stop loving you, Asra? How do I let you go, when I never even held you at all?_

Maybe this fall, they’d leave, too.

Asra sighs and curls into himself a bit. “I think they might have,” he evades, ignoring the first question entirely. “I don’t know. I never got to tell them.”

“Did they go away?” they ask somewhat bitterly. _Maybe that’s why he always leaves, too._

_They’re right here,_ Asra wants to say. _They’re right here, but they’re gone forever._ “Yes,” he says instead.

The half of his heart in Asra’s chest aches with every beat, cold and hopeless and lonely. He can’t let himself sink into the pit in his stomach, the one asking what the point of all of it was, how he could do this to them, how much more he can take. For them, always for them, he clenches his jaw and locks his heart away again. He has no right to hurt them again.

“What made you think of that?” he tries to ask cheerfully, to shift the focus away from the hopeless little black hole in his chest.

The apprentice shrugs uncomfortably and looks away. Asra can’t help but smile at them. They’re not who they were, but all the time he’s reminded how much they are still themselves; he can see right through them just the same as always.

He shouldn’t, but he asks, “I wonder what’s got your mind on love. Could there be someone in your heart?”

_Let them be happy,_ he silently begs the universe. _No matter who it is, or why. Let them live a full life, one full of love and hope. Let them be happy. They deserve more than the secrets I can never tell them._

Again his apprentice shrugs and shifts in their seat awkwardly. Asra smiles to himself. Good, he thinks, good for them. They deserve to love and be loved. “It doesn’t matter,” they breathe into the fading day.

“Of course it does,” Asra softly corrects. “I’m sure they love you, too. How could they not?”

_How could anyone do anything but love you? How could anyone do anything but love you with every single painful breath…_

Their lips pucker into a tiny, sad frown, as sure and defeated as a snowfall, as a tiny death in the room. “No, I don’t think so.”

Maybe they’d leave Vesuvia when the leaves had all fallen. Asra wouldn’t be back by then, they were sure. They’d say goodbye now and they’d go somewhere else, somewhere far, forget their magic and find a place to mend their heart. There had to be a place somewhere, tucked away in a thick wood, quiet and lonely enough to drown the sound of their sobs when they laid alone in bed at night. Someplace they could mourn the only love they’d ever had, and the magician that would never really see them.

Their body sags with defeat and the quiet of the shop seeps into their bones.

The dusty mantle and the old, broken clock resting on it. The brittle thistle and ribbon broom leaning against the shop wall, the dust softly settling into the cracks in the floorboards. The empty flower vase at the bedside. The little gift box hidden in Asra’s drawer of trinkets and pens, waiting many long months now for him to find it, holding two perfect handmade lapis pendant earrings. If he kept leaving, he’d never find them at all.

The quiet square full of happy families, in warm homes, and the magician stealing away into the cold night.

The emptiness of the creaking building around them.

The small, silent death of their last hope that this time, he would stay. That he would finally take their hand, and allow them to really meet him for the first time.

_If you go now, I can’t forgive you,_ they think. _I can’t do this again. I can’t lose you again. If you leave now, this is goodbye._

Asra chokes on his words, seeing them sit so somber and forlorn. Like a fawn in a clearing, mother long gone, without a friend in the world. He wants so badly to hold them and protect them, and tell them the truth, to kiss them until they believe it…

The apprentice is the first to bridge the wistful silence. “I wish you would stay,” they sigh.

_Stay,_ they want to plead. _Stay with me. Stay with me, here, and let me keep you. If you say goodbye now, I can’t be here when you return._

_I can’t lose you again,_ Asra swears to himself, _I can’t hurt you again. I can’t watch you slip away…_

Asra gulps. “I won’t be gone long, I promise.”

His apprentice sighs. Something in their eyes burns out, and their hands fall limply into their lap. Hopeless. Hopeless.

_He doesn’t even see me._

They swallow down the lump in their throat, and nod once, twice, breathing through the drop in their stomach. Something falls away inside them. “Please be safe, Asra.”

He doesn’t know why his heart is suddenly tugging painfully, speeding up. Something is wrong, somehow this goodbye is different. He can feel it, but feels helpless to dispel it. He nods, forces a smile, and kisses their forehead tenderly. They turn their face from his touch before he can reach them, and stare into the growing night.

_This is for their safety,_ he reminds himself. _I have to go. It’s too hard to love them, and not tell them. I can’t hurt them again._

His back is already turned when the first tears well in the corners of their tired eyes. _How can I love someone I don’t even know,_ they scold themselves harshly. _How can I love a ghost?_

—


	2. heartsweet //

_with words unspoken // a silent devotion // I know you know what I mean // and the end is unknown // but I think I’m ready // as long as you’re with me_

They’d buried their love in the cold, hard ground just in time for the frost to close over the land’s wound the next morning after. 

They tended the cabin, learned to hunt, and to trap, sewed their own clothes, and patched the ruts in the roof and the siding. Stepped into the tiny northern village alone, vowed to rekindle the land surrounding the last abandoned cottage three hours deep into the forest, scoffed at the legends of Things in the woods, and refused to call themselves a witch. They chopped their own wood and painted a canvas once when the snow held them hostage for two entire weeks. They mulled their own wine, bought a gun, smoked tobacco on the rickety porch in the frigid winter evenings, dried their own terrified tears when the howling in the woods became louder and closer than ever late in the night, and muffled their own scream when something scratched at the door. They forgot their magic and never told the villagers their real name. They’d hiked through the woods in the knee-deep snow, looked out over the frozen waterfall at the Far Crest, and imagined themselves a hero and a warrior who needed no one. They’d sharpened their own hunting knife with a whetstone and said aloud, “I am alive, and I don’t miss him anymore." 

The spring came early, the land thawed, and the first ships in three months arrived in Port. The apprentice didn’t visit the tiny rock pile at the edge of the clearing where they’d made a monument to their lost life, and their lost rebirth, and sworn to forget. They didn’t even think of it as the snow entombing their tiny makeshift altar thawed and melted away. 

And then, in an instant where they swore the demons in the wood had finally magicked themselves real, there he was. In a cape much too thin for the glacial temperature of the approaching evening, stumbling hurriedly down the several-mile-long path from town to the tiny hideaway in the woods, cursing under his breath at the setting sun and shivering like a leaf in the wind. And for a second, the apprentice had drawn their knife and been so damndedly sure that it couldn’t possibly be him, all the way here, stupidly wandering unawares and assuredly unarmed. 

And then they had cursed, sheathed their knife, dropped the satchel of roots in their grip, and barreled down the path in spite of the howling pain in their chest.

_I buried my heart under the winter snow and ran away; so many months later I roll the rock away, only to find… it never really died._

"What are you _doing_ here?” they hiss as they drag the Magician through the thick, spindly undergrowth of the wood. 

“You disappeared! I came to find you—" 

"I didn’t _disappear_ ,” they huff. “I left a note telling you exactly where I was going.”

“I waited for months for you to come back!” Asra pleads. “When you never came home, I was terrified something happened to you.” He trips over a root in the worsening darkness and gasps, “Slow down!" 

"It’s getting dark,” the apprentice snaps back. “The woods aren’t safe after dark. So hurry up.” They’d long learned they could make this trek back in half the time if they were alone. 

They finally pull Asra up the brittle wooden porch steps and through the arch, slamming the heavy wooden door closed behind them and fastening the iron bolt. They place the flat of their palm against the smooth wood and concentrate, purple and blue flickering like embers as the sigil of protection flares to the surface, and then burns away. The apprentice sighs heavily and turns, prepared to lecture the fool in front of the hearth. If they hadn’t been foraging this late in the evening, if they hadn’t found him, or Gods forbid he’d gotten _lost_ —

His embrace is immediate. His arms wrapping around their shoulders are warm despite the cold, his tight grip much stronger than they remember it ever being. Their breath catches at his closeness—he smells just the same—but their words are muffled by his chest. Asra cradles their head and buries his face in their neck, gasping, “I missed you. I missed you _so much, Gods,_ I missed you.”

Their eyes flutter closed against their will, and they breathe in the scent of his hair. Sandalwood, citrus, spice, the smell of home. Their heart shudders and they hold their breath to stop the sob that threatens to break. 

Asra’s arms hold them like they’ll dissolve into dust right before his eyes. He trembles, and then sniffles, the wetness of his cheeks shockingly warm against the apprentice’s neck. 

“Are you crying?” they gasp into his embrace, but he only squeezes them harder. 

For a moment, they remember with perfect clarity the moment they awoke in his arms, cradled so gently in his arms and moved to heartbreak by the desperate, choking sobs that radiated from his throat. They hadn’t known him, hadn’t known anything but the tenderness of his embrace and the shocking violence of his weeping, steeped in emotions they could not fathom. 

Belatedly, their arms come to wrap around Asra’s waist, absentmindedly stroking his spine and quietly shushing him through his tears. “I’m here,” they choke, numbing their own urge to weep. “I’m here.” It’s all they can think to say. 

—

The morning light is ice-blue where it streams through the window, and ignites Asra’s halo of curls in the palest shade of glowing periwinkle. The apprentice lays next to him in bed, watching the steady rise and fall of his sleeping chest. _I’d forgotten how warm he is,_ they muse, smirking at his bare chest in the chill of the cabin. 

His face is never more peaceful than in the tranquility of sleep. The perfect, plush cupid’s bow of his lips, slightly parted, the smoothness of his forehead, the heavy fan of snowy lashes fluttering just slightly as he dreams. His high cheekbones, golden and glowing, his long, slender neck, the wayward curl resting on his brow. His big, cute, dopey ears. The apprentice smiles and thinks for a second of reaching up to trace their finger over the fullness of his bottom lip. It looks so smooth and full, and sweet… 

They shake the thought from their head and turn over, careful not to jostle him as they rise from bed. 

They should hate him for showing up like this. They were doing _so_ well, they were getting on, they were getting over him. And then he has the audacity to appear out of nowhere, as if conjured only to ruin their peace. 

But they can’t make themselves feel anything but relief, and immense affection. This silly, strange magician hacked through the haunted Olde Wood to find them, utterly unprepared—the thought makes them chuckle darkly as they carefully stir the stewpot hanging over the fire. 

Behind them, sheets rustle. “You’re up already?” Asra’s voice is thick and rough with sleep. “It’s freezing. Come back to bed, let me warm you up." 

Their heart jumps at the offer, though they know Asra means it in only the most innocent way. They can’t meet his eyes as they shake their head. "I don’t think I should.”

“What do you mean? We cuddle all the time at the shop." 

"Well,” they sigh wryly, “this isn’t the shop." 

He sighs in defeat, but rises to dress. They absentmindedly slice a thick, dark loaf of bread as they stare out the tiny kitchen window, contemplating the frozen dew decorating the inky underbrush of the forest edge. Freezing and inhospitable: their home. Asra wraps his hands around their waist to rest his chin on their shoulder, making them jump in surprise. "What shall we do today?” he asks cheerfully. 

They clear their throat and wriggle out of his grip under the pretense of tending to the cauldron of bubbling soup. “Asra… you can’t stay." 

"Why not?” Under any other circumstance, the adorable, childlike confusion in his voice would make them chuckle. 

Instead, they hang their head. “It hurts too much." 

Again, he tries to embrace them, but is pushed away. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen them so cold. "We can talk about this.” He reaches for them, and they step away. 

_Why is this happening?_ His vision swims. _I thought I could walk away, if that’s what they wanted. I could let them go, if they would be happy. But this isn’t right… It can’t happen like this…_

“I don’t want to talk, I want you to go home. Go far away from here.” They cross their arms over their chest and turn away from his pleading eyes and his sad, perfect lips. “I don’t even know why you came here." 

Anger and indignation salt Asra’s tongue. "I came for you. I found your letter—I thought you’d show up any day—but you were gone all winter. I was scared out of my mind, I had to know that you were okay!" 

"So you can leave whenever you want, but I can’t?” they counter. 

“One moment, you’re holding my hand in the market because you’re scared of crowds, the next moment, I come home and you’re gone!" 

"I’m not a child, Asra." 

"So just because you’re grown up, I can’t worry? You disappeared into thin air! I’m not allowed to worry about my best friend?" 

The apprentice makes a face. _Best friend._ Somehow too much, while altogether not enough. Asra sees their scowl, and throws his hands up in exasperation. "What?" 

They scrunch their nose. "Best friend? I feel like I hardly even know you, Asra. You’re always gone. Best friends don’t leave." 

Asra’s heart crumples. It hurts, more than hurts, to hear them say such a thing—he hates that they distance themselves from him with their words, that they pretend they’re not the center of his entire world. Hates that he can’t grab them, and kiss them, and tell them the truth, and hold them until they believe it. Hates that this is all his own fault. His anger burns his palms and makes his fingertips tingle as he curls them into fists. He lashes out, "Leave? That’s exactly what you did!" 

"It’s not my fault!” they yell. “I never wanted to be your best friend! That was never enough for me!" 

The words are burning their way over their tongue before they can stop it. Immediately they recoil, hoping against hope that somehow Asra will miss what they’ve just said, or will ignore it, or get so fed up that he just decides to leave—

"Wait, I— What?" 

They shake their head violently, as though they can shake the question out of their ears. "Never mind, it doesn’t matter.”

“Wait, please, just talk to me! I don’t understand,” Asra insists, anger forgotten, coming to grip their shoulders in his strong, elegant hands. 

Their chest burns with embarrassment and hurt. Asra’s brows are furrowed in confusion; they wish they could reach up and smooth it with their thumb like they used to. _Don’t worry so much, you’ll ruin your pretty face,_ they’d say. “Let it go, Asra, I don’t want to talk about this anymore." 

"Please,” he pleads. “Please talk to me. I can fix this.” His voice is trembling. 

_I can fix anything,_ he thinks as panic starts to bubble between his ribs _. If I can bring you back, I can fix anything. I can fix anything._

They push his seeking hands away and bite their lip to stop the tears from welling up. _He doesn’t know what he’s asking. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He doesn’t even see me._

“There’s nothing for you here, Asra. You should go home." 

"I thought I lost you. I can’t go, I can’t lose you like this. Not again." 

Their eyes sting. "You’re breaking my heart, Asra,” they plead. 

This time, they can’t find the strength to fight him when he pulls them into his arms. They sob bitterly into his shoulder, hating him, hating his presence, his insistence, his inability to love them, his refusal to let them into his heart. His voice softens as he strokes their back soothingly, quietly pleading, “Please don’t make me go. You’re my whole world." 

They want to scream, they want to run into the trees and never return, they want to bury themselves in the moss of the Olde and forget sunlight and the smell of their shared home and the feeling of wanting an impossible love. 

"Don’t,” they cry. 

“You’re everything to me,” Asra quietly insists. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’d lose my mind, I’d lose everything. Please listen. You’re everything to me. You’re the only thing I need." 

They thrash in his arms and curse the wetness staining their cheeks. "You don’t mean that like I do." 

_He doesn’t even see me._

He pauses… And his heart leaps. The cavern of his chest, tense, and cold, and half-empty, softens. 

Asra’s hand tilts their quivering chin up to meet his gaze, something unfathomable and deep shimmering in the amethyst of his eyes. Gone is the anger, the frustration, and the bitterness—he gazes at them with unbearable tenderness. 

"You’re my whole world,” he repeats, just above a whisper. “You know me better than anyone else ever has. Everything that I am. You know my heart, you _know_ me, and I know you.” The apprentice hiccups as his arm gently pulls them closer to his chest, his hand on their chin coming to softly wipe away a tear from their cheek. The smile that blooms on his lips is so tender, it makes their chest tight. 

“I know you,” he insists. “I’m sorry I’ve made you hurt. I won’t push you away anymore. And I’ll never leave you again. I won’t ever leave you again, I promise." 

Their heart stutters at his words. He can’t possibly mean what it is he’s saying…

Asra’s hands gingerly cup their cheeks, leaning closer to them as his eyes drift from their wet eyes to their trembling lips and back. Their shaking hands cover his.

"I’m so sorry I didn’t see before. I think I understand now.” He pauses as he drifts closer, glancing down at their lips for a long second before his eyes return to theirs, filled with something unknowable. 

“Can I kiss you?”

Their answering laugh is a hard, harsh crow, a cry of relief and of joy, the sound of three years of longing and frustration and doubt and heartbreak leaving their chest like a battle cry. It is as brittle and sharp as the bark of the trees of the Olde Wood, as tired and dogged and relieved as the grass roots after the longest winter of their life. As exhausted and elated as a lost traveler seeing the lights of town for the first time in weeks. 

And the apprentice doesn’t hesitate to close the gap between their lips, and the soft, beguiling smile of their magician. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, ya filthy heathen. Hit ya girl up at tumblr/steponmeasra ✌️


End file.
